Kingsley Baby Trilogy: The Hero's Son\The Brother's Wife\The Long-Lost Heir (2 page)

For over thirty years, Valerie had never allowed herself to become close to anyone. She'd never had any friends to speak of, had never gotten involved in a serious relationship. She'd told herself it was because she was too busy building a career, but deep down, she'd always known it was because she was afraid that the terrible names people had called her in the past—the awful things they'd screamed at her when her father had been arrested—were true. That she was tainted, the offspring of a monster.

Only in her dreams had her father remained an innocent man. Only in her dreams was the real villain the man with the cold, black eyes. A man Valerie had never been able to forget.

For over thirty years, Sergeant Colter had haunted her sleep.

But it wasn't until after her mother's death, when Valerie had found her mother's diary hidden away among a cache of newspaper clippings and books about the Kingsley kidnapping, along with mementos from their former life, that Valerie had finally understood why she'd never been able to forget Sergeant Colter.

Her instincts about him had been right. He was an evil man who had set her father up. He'd made her father
take the fall for a crime he hadn't committed. Cletus Brown
was
an innocent man.

Valerie's mother had gone to her grave still believing in him. They hadn't left Memphis because Grace Brown thought her husband guilty, but because she was afraid for her daughter's safety. There were men in Memphis, powerful men, who were willing to kill to keep Cletus Brown behind bars. To keep the truth from coming out.

And so Violet and Grace Brown had disappeared, and Cletus had gone silently to prison where he had remained for the past thirty-one years.

As Valerie had read her mother's diary that afternoon, it had become crystal clear to her what she must do. She would prove to the world that her father was innocent. She would free him from prison, and in so doing, free herself from the awful burden of guilt she had carried with her for almost her entire life.

The very next day, Valerie had quit her job at the
Chicago Sun-Times,
sent her résumé to the
Memphis Journal,
packed up a few of her belongings, along with her mother's diary and the box of mementos, and headed for Memphis, her birthplace, searching for truth, justice, and maybe, if she were honest with herself, a little revenge.

And now it's come to this,
she thought, still trying to fight the hold the drug had on her.

She'd known from the first that the series of articles she'd planned about the Kingsley kidnapping wouldn't go over well with a lot of powerful people in this city. The reputations of three well-respected men were all at stake, and she'd known they wouldn't take her accusations lying down.

The Kingsley kidnapping had affected a lot of people, and when the truth finally came out, lives would be ruined.

But one life would be saved.

And that was the only one that could be allowed to matter, Valerie thought, as she closed her eyes and finally succumbed to the medication.

* * *

T
HE DREAM WAS ALWAYS
the same. Her name was Violet again, and she was back in that tiny house in southeast Memphis, watching through the crack in her bedroom door. She heard her mother scream, saw her father collapse to the floor, and then the big man turned and looked at Violet. Looked at her with those cold, black eyes.

The devil's eyes.

Violet tried to scream, but no sound came out. She tried to shrink away, but couldn't move. She was trapped, mesmerized by a gaze so dark and evil, she felt herself sinking into those bottomless depths from which she knew there would be no escape.

But she had to try. She had to try and save herself. She had to try and save her father.

Because if she didn't, no one else would.

Violet fought her way up from the black pit. She struggled to free herself from the terror that claimed her, night after night.

As she finally reached the surface, the terror gave way to confusion, and Violet slowly became Valerie. But then she opened her eyes to find the devil himself staring down at her.

V
ALERIE GASPED
and sprang up in bed.

“Take it easy. I didn't mean to startle you.” His voice was deep and rich, not in the least threatening, but shivers scurried up Valerie's spine. He reached out to ease her back against the pillows, but Valerie shrank away from him. “I'm Sergeant Colter,” he said.

What did one say to one's nightmare?

“Valerie Snow,” she managed, clutching the sheet to her breast.

After her initial shock began to subside, Valerie realized who he must be. Why hadn't she thought of it earlier? He had to be Judd Colter's son because he was the spitting image of his father as he had looked thirty-one years ago when he'd stormed into a tiny home in southeast Memphis and changed three lives forever.

The resemblance almost took Valerie's breath away.

She found herself staring up at him, studying his face longer than she should have, trying to analyze him with a reporter's eye for detail.

There were subtle differences, she decided. He wasn't
exactly
like his father. At least, not physically.

He was just as tall, but leaner than Judd Colter had been. His hair was just as dark, but he didn't wear it in a military style like his father had. The thick strands
brushed against his shirt collar, gleaming blue-black in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

His features were more even than his father's.
And more handsome,
Valerie thought, startled to feel the quiver of butterflies in her stomach.

Oh, yes, there were definitely differences, but one thing remained the same: his eyes were just as dark and just as cold as his father's.

Valerie shivered and tried to look away. “What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Reluctantly she met his gaze. “What about?”

One dark brow rose in surprise. Or was it condescension? “You've made a pretty serious accusation, Ms. Snow. Or have you forgotten?”

At first, she thought he was talking about her article, then she realized he meant the incident with the bus. “You mean when I said someone tried to kill me?”

Something flashed in his dark eyes. Something Valerie couldn't quite define. “You didn't say that exactly. You said you were pushed.”

She forced a harsh laugh. “Semantics, Sergeant Colter.”

“Hardly. Even if you were pushed, it could have been an accident.”

“Even
if?
” Valerie glared up at him. “I said I was pushed, and I was. And I think it was
very
deliberate.”

He took out a pen and notebook and pulled up a chair. “Why don't we get the paperwork out of the way first, and then you can tell me what you think happened. What's your full name?” When she hesitated, he glanced up. “Is that question too difficult for you?”

There was enough arrogance in his voice to stir her
temper.
Yes, and you have no idea why,
she thought bitterly. “Is this going to take long?” Maybe if she stalled him, he would give up and go away. What was he going to do, anyway? Go looking for someone who had a reason to push her in front of a bus?

Well, he didn't have far to look, did he?

“That depends on you,” he said.

She shrugged. “Guess I'm not going anywhere for a while.”
That's it,
she thought.
Tough it out. Don't let him get to you.

After all, she was good at pretending, wasn't she? She'd learned a long time ago not to let anyone see the real person, the real emotions, behind her hardened veneer.

“Your name,” he repeated, his pen poised over his notebook. His hands were large and well shaped, Valerie noticed. And ringless. He wasn't married. She wondered why.

“Valerie Anne Snow.”

He started scribbling. “Address?”

She rattled off her street address and he wrote it down.

“All right,” he said, glancing up at her. “Why don't you tell me what happened?”

“Just the facts, ma'am. Right?” When he didn't respond to her sarcasm, Valerie shrugged and said, “Angie and I had just left work—”

“Angie?”

“Angela Casey. She writes an advice column for the
Journal.
That's where I work,” she added, trying to gauge his reaction.

There was none. He appeared to be made of ice. “Go on.”

“She was meeting someone for an early dinner, and so I left her on Front Street and headed for city hall, for Austin Colter's press conference. I wanted to get there early, before anyone else showed up—” She stopped short, wondering if that was why Sergeant Colter had arrived on the scene so quickly. Had he been headed for his cousin's press conference, as well?

Or had his reasons been more sinister than that?

She suppressed another shiver. “I stopped at the intersection, waiting for a light. There was some kind of commotion in the crowd. Someone dropped something, I think, and while everyone was looking down, someone pushed me into the street. Pushed me hard,” she added. “Hard enough to make me fall down. It wasn't an accident.”

“You didn't see who it was?”

She shook her head.

“You didn't recognize anyone in the crowd?”

“No.”

His dark, probing gaze took her measure. “How long have you been in town, Ms. Snow?”

“How do you know I wasn't born here?” she challenged, flirting with danger.

“You may have been born here, but you haven't lived here in several years. Your accent is, what? Midwestern? Chicago?”

“All right, you caught me,” she conceded. “I've only been in Memphis for six weeks.”

“What brought you here?”

“I got a job with the
Journal.
I'm a reporter.”

His dark eyes met hers. “Made any enemies since you've been here?”

Besides you and your father, you mean?
“Reporters
always make enemies,” she said. “We wouldn't be doing our job if we didn't.”

He gave her a disparaging glance. “What about your private life?”

“Are you asking if I have any jilted lovers lurking about in the bushes?”

He smiled slightly. “Something like that. Jealousy and rejection are powerful motivations. They rank right up there with revenge.”

Their gazes collided, and something jolted inside Valerie. Something she wanted to deny, but couldn't.

What is going on here? This man is your enemy, remember?

Or at least, he was the son of her enemy. And if she forgot that fact, all she had to do was look into his eyes.

The devil's eyes…

Must be the painkiller,
she decided. The drug had dulled her senses. She'd better get rid of him.

“Look, why don't we cut to the chase here, shall we? You asked if I'd made any enemies since I've been in town. We both know that I have.” She ran a tired hand through her tangled hair. “You're Judd Colter's son, aren't you?”

“That's right.” His eyes still gave away nothing.

Valerie shrugged. “Then you must know about the article I wrote for the
Journal.
The one about the Kingsley kidnapping. If you really want to find out who pushed me in front of that bus, maybe you should start with the three people I mentioned in that article. Including your own father, Sergeant Colter.”

A tiny spark of anger ignited in his eyes, the first emotion he'd shown since he'd walked into her room.
“Are you accusing my father of attempted murder, Ms. Snow?”

When she didn't reply, he said, “It might interest you to know that he recently suffered a stroke. He's a very sick man. He's hardly capable of dressing himself, much less pushing someone in front of a bus.”

An image flashed in Valerie's mind of the way Judd Colter had looked that night all those years ago. He'd been a vigorous man, tall and muscular, at the peak of physical conditioning. For a moment she felt… what? Surely not sympathy at the thought of such a man being crippled by a stroke. She remembered her own father and why he had been sent to prison, and she lifted her chin.

“He wouldn't have to do it himself, and in any case, there were others mentioned in the article besides Judd Colter. Your uncle, for instance. Raymond Colter was involved in the Kingsley kidnapping investigation, too, as was Captain Rawlins, an old family friend, I believe. Any one of them could have hired someone to follow me.” Her eyes narrowed as she gazed up at him. “As a matter of fact, I can't help wondering what
you
were doing on that street corner, Sergeant Colter.”

He cocked his head slightly. “Is that a question or an accusation?”

Valerie shrugged.

“As you said, my cousin is holding a press conference this afternoon. I guess it was just luck that put me at the right place at the right time.”

Valerie wasn't sure if there was sarcasm in his voice or not. She gave him a long, hard stare. “Whatever your reason for being there, the fact remains that someone
tried to kill me, and I want to know what you're going to do about it.”

“I'll file a report as soon as I get back to headquarters.”

She looked at him incredulously.
“That's it?”

“There'll be an investigation, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” Valerie retorted cynically. “And I'm sure no stone will be left unturned.”

He flipped his notebook closed and put it away. “You don't like cops much, do you?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

An ironic smile touched his lips. “Your article, for one thing.”

“Then you
did
read it.”

“Oh, I read it, all right.”

“And what did you think?”

It was his turn to shrug. “I guess it made me wonder what it is you really want.”

“That's easy,” Valerie told him. “I want justice.”

“For whom?”

“Cletus Brown.”

He looked at her in disgust. “Cletus Brown kidnapped and murdered a three-year-old boy. Justice was served when my father arrested him. Justice was served when Brown was convicted by a jury of his peers and the judge sentenced him to life in prison without parole.”

“The evidence against him was all circumstantial,” Valerie said.

“Circumstantial or not, it was pretty convincing as I recall. His own brother-in-law testified against him.”

“Yes, because he hated him,” Valerie blurted. Then, when she saw Brant looking at her curiously, she tempered her words. “It was no secret. The two of
them didn't get along. Odell Campbell worked for the Kingsleys as a chauffeur, and he used to throw Cletus Brown some repair work occasionally, but only because Cletus was married to his sister. He said so under oath. He claimed Cletus had been around a few days before the kidnapping, wanting to borrow money, then asking all kinds of questions about the big fund-raiser Iris Kingsley was throwing for her son, wanting to know about the mansion's security and all that. But it was always his word against Cletus's. No one else heard the conversation.”

“But why would he lie?” Brant challenged. “Why would he want to send his own sister's husband to prison?”

He was still looking at her strangely, and Valerie realized how close she'd come to blowing her cover. She would have to be a lot more careful from now on, especially around Brant Colter. She couldn't afford to arouse his suspicions any more than they already were.

“Two reasons,” she forced herself to say evenly. “He never thought Cletus was good enough for his sister, and since she wouldn't divorce him, this was a good way to get rid of him.”

A dark brow lifted in skepticism. “And the other reason?”

“He was paid to lie. He quit his job with the Kingsleys several months after Cletus Brown was convicted and sent to prison. He turned up driving a new car, wearing new clothes, apparently having money to burn. Where did he get it?”

Brant frowned. “How do you know all this?”

“I'm a reporter. I'm paid to dig up this kind of information. Just like cops are—or should be.”

Their gazes clashed again, and beyond the icy surface, Valerie saw smoldering animosity in Brant's dark eyes. Animosity and something else that made her wonder how she could ever have thought him without emotion.

“What about the ransom money that was found in the trunk of Cletus Brown's car?” he demanded. “That's hardly circumstantial.”

Valerie folded her arms across her chest. “Why would someone smart enough to kidnap one of the Kingsley twins from his room while an important fund-raiser was going on downstairs be stupid enough to leave fifteen thousand dollars of the ransom money in the trunk of his own car? And what happened to the other four hundred and eighty-five thousand? It never turned up.

“Your father was the only one who knew about that money in Cletus Brown's car. According to his testimony, he received an anonymous tip that led him to Cletus Brown, but the fact was, the two of them already knew each other.” Valerie saw surprise flash in Brant's dark eyes before he could hide it, and she smiled in satisfaction. “You didn't know that, did you?”

“Cletus Brown had a prior,” Brant said. “My father had arrested him before.”

It was Valerie's turn to be surprised. “You knew about that?”

“It was a guess,” he admitted. “But I'm right, aren't I? That's why he was a suspect to begin with.”

Valerie nodded grudgingly. “He was arrested for petty theft a few months before the kidnapping. He stole ten dollars from the cash register in a gas station to buy his daughter a birthday present. He'd gone in trying to find work. He was desperate.”

“Desperation doesn't justify theft, Ms. Snow.”

“I didn't say it did,” she snapped. “I'm just trying to explain his motivation.”

“Why does this case mean so much to you?” Brant asked suddenly. “You're obviously very emotional about it. But a thirty-year-old kidnapping is hardly newsworthy.”